Final chapter:
Three years later:
Danna:
"No ice cream!" Jake exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air.
"Uncle, leave him. He's immature," Enzo muttered, grabbing his little brother's arm. "Stop irritating Uncle Jake."
Jake glanced at me, shaking his head in exasperation. "You and your kids…"
I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. "What is it, Enzo? And Luca?" I asked, walking toward my boys.
"I want ice cream," Luca whined, pouting fiercely, "but Uncle Jake keeps saying he's broke! Like he doesn't have a whole bank to get money from!"
"Grow up, Luca," Enzo shot back, rolling his eyes with the wisdom of someone far beyond his age.
"What is this chaos?" Dante's voice suddenly cut through the living room, deep and commanding as always.
"Papa!" Both boys shouted in unison, their mischief forgotten as they rushed toward him.
I stood back, smiling, as Dante bent down and effortlessly scooped them both into his arms. "My little gangsters," he teased, kissing the tops of their heads. "Did you irritate Uncle Jake again?"
"They did!" Jake groaned from the couch, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I'm leaving you guys. My head aches."
I walked closer, brushing Luca's messy hair away from his face as Enzo clung to Dante's shoulder. "Well, look at them. One wants ice cream, the other just wants him to grow up."
Dante laughed, the sound filling the house, warm and alive. He looked at me over their little heads, and in his eyes I saw the life we had built—the storms we had survived, the love that had carried us here.
And as our boys giggled in his arms, I realized we finally had it all.
"It's Dad's death anniversary," Dante said quietly, his voice lower than usual, almost hesitant. "We should go there."
I simply nodded. "Sure."
The drive was silent, heavy but not suffocating. When we reached the cemetery, Dante walked ahead of me, his tall figure seeming both strong and fragile at the same time. He stopped in front of the gravestone, his jaw tense, his eyes unreadable. Slowly, he bent down, placing a single white flower onto the cold marble.
"Even if he was abusive, even if he used me…" his voice wavered just slightly, "he was still my dad."
He exhaled deeply, like he had been holding that weight for far too long, then turned to me with the faintest smile, one that hurt more than tears would have. It broke my heart. I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around him, holding him close.
"It's okay," I whispered against his chest.
"I know." His arms came around me tightly, grounding himself in my warmth. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before we finally walked away together, hand in hand, the silence between us no longer heavy but healing.
Back home, chaos greeted us immediately—as always.
"Papa," Enzo said sternly, standing in front of Dante like a little man instead of the three-year-old he was. "The security in our house should be tightened. My book in the drawer wasn't there."
Dante arched an eyebrow, suppressing a laugh. "Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind."
Luca giggled, running up and tugging on his father's sleeve. "Papa, when will we go visit Aunty Isabella? She promised me she'd buy me a PS5!"
"Soon," Dante answered, his deep voice full of amusement.
I leaned against the doorway, watching them—our boys with their endless chatter, Dante with his soft patience, and Jake in the corner groaning like he regretted ever stepping into this family circus. My lips curved into a smile, my heart swelling until it felt too full for my chest.
This was us. This was the family we had built through pain, love, and second chances. A family that would only grow stronger.
And as Dante glanced at me over the heads of our sons, his eyes telling me everything words never could, I realized something—
We weren't just surviving anymore.
We were living.
We were home.
Thanks for reading.
Hope you enjoyed.
I tried my best.